


Stygian Void

by Vosueh



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Violence, Date Rape, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Guilt, Healing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, a lot of comfort hugging and kissing, a necessity really, and yes i used a background character off-handedly mentioned in canon to be the villian, i have thoughts and they shall be heard, not a very happy story sorry, the first few paragraphs of each chapter are abused for philosophical rambles, unless you came here to feel sad which in that case you're in luck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vosueh/pseuds/Vosueh
Summary: After failing to get his boyfriend to come with him to Polly's party, Oz goes by himself, only to run into a familiar incubus. Not long after, he wakes up hours later in one of the bedrooms, half-undressed and with no recollection of what happened the night before.A scramble to find out what happened that night at the party begins.





	1. Blank

**Author's Note:**

> I always hurt the characters I love most dearly so it was only inevitable I write something like this. Not so graphic, but terribly sad nonetheless.

Fables were always a captivating subject to Oz. They envelop their audience in a plot, and conclude with a closing theme— that, of which, the reader is left to either agree or disagree with.

And there was one fable Oz always used to disagree with.

The Farmer and The Viper. A short story, but one with a bitter twist. A farmer finds a viper in the cold, freezing to the elements. Taking pity, he takes the viper in his coat to warm him, assuming the viper knew not to bite him, as it would kill them both. The farmer to the venom, and the snake to the cold.

But, the viper does just that. He bites, and kills them both. The moral: kindness toward evil will only be met with betrayal. If it’s in one’s nature, they can’t help themselves but to act viciously.

But Oz never thought people were boxed in such limiting fences. Perhaps, he saw better in the monsters around them.

Until, he met Gwilliam the Incubus.

Oz always heard Damien and Vera talk down on him, with such spite and distaste. At the time he assumed it was premature stereotyping; an incubus, among young high schoolers? Of course he was easy to label a predator.

So, perhaps being too forgiving, Oz found no quarrels with chatting with the incubus. Their lockers were practically side by side, so sometimes he’ll exchange pleasant small talk with the demon. Or when he and Liam had lunch together, sometimes he’ll urge the vampire that it’ll be disruptive and hip to let the outcast incubus sit with them.

And perhaps Gwilliam noticed that kindness. Saw Oz offering an olive branch to a potential friendship.

But, like the fable goes, no good comes from nurturing a viper at one’s bosom.

 

\---------------------------

 

“Come on, Liam it won’t be too mainstream!” Oz pestered his boyfriend at lunch, as he’s been doing all day. Polly was throwing the craziest sounding party tonight, and leave it to Liam to hear the lengthy guest list and immediately deem the party not exclusive enough for his tastes.

“Don’t tell me the backdrop of drugs and rave music actually appeals to you, Oz.” He began with a roll of his eyes, not even bothering to take his focus off the food picture he was lining up. “So pedestrian. Your tastes are better than that.”

Although it was counter to his argument, Oz knew Liam was right. He was a bit meek in outlandishly crazy parties, but after all, that’s why he was trying to get his boyfriend to go with him. Ever since prom, they’ve been going almost everywhere together; Oz knew if Liam was there with him at Polly’s party, then he’ll have a good time no matter how the night goes.

“Perhaps then, you might like going to the party with me… ironically?”

Liam finally broke his concentration off his picture, turning to Oz with a wide, amused smile.

“Nice try. As disruptive as that sounds, I wouldn’t want some bystander seeing me there and mistaking my appearance as genuine interest in drunken parties.” Before Oz could work up an overly dejected look, Liam quickly leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “But, if you really want to go, maybe I can pick you up early and we can have a movie night. No hip party-goer actually stays to the end, after all.”

Although he didn’t quite get his way, Oz softly smiled. Going to the party for a few hours and ditching it for a movie date doesn’t seem like a bad Friday night to him. “Let me guess, another subbed Italian horror?”

Liam let out a surprisingly genuine laugh.

“You know my tastes too well. So, should I swing by Polly’s at ten for you?”

Despite not getting to bring his boyfriend along, Oz still felt relieved he was going to be able to still swing by that killer party, all while still ending the night with Liam.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to sneak out before then.” Oz’s upbeat words seemed to put the matter at ease for Liam, and he picked his phone back up to resume his artistic angling of his lunch. Likewise, Oz brought out his phone too; in a mere moment, he had already sent a text to Polly he was making it to the party tonight.

Before he knew it, the school day drew to a close.

He didn’t bother dressing much up; he arrived at the party in the same attire he left the school in, and ironically gravitated towards the same crowd he usually hovered around at school-- Polly, Damien, Vera…

Until, from the corner of his eye, Oz thought he spotted a familiar maroon monster.

“Gwilliam? Didn’t expect to see you here!” Breaking off from his group, Oz moved towards the table of drinks, greeting the lone incubus.

Upon seeing him, Gwilliam immediately flashed a toothy grin.

“Oz! Didn’t take you for a partier. At least, not with that vampire you keep in company-- Lenny, was it?”

Reaching out to one of the beers on the table, Oz chuckled as he popped the cap off and took a sip.

“Liam. And yeah, but he couldn’t make it. Parties aren’t his kind of thing, you know?”

The incubus knitted his brow, and sympathetically cocked his head to the side. “So he left you to come here all alone? Well, that doesn’t sound very nice.”

In a smooth movement, Gwilliam leaned in closer, and Oz nervously debated taking a step back.

“He doesn’t sound like a fun guy to put up with. I think everyone needs to let go every once and awhile, don’t you agree…?” Lifting his hand, the incubus cupped up under Oz’s jaw, smirking down at him with a look of intrigue. Trying not to jump to conclusions, Oz shakily set down his beer on the table, and tried to laugh it off.

“Ha, no, he lets go-- Just these parties, too loud and crowded, you know?” Oz took a step back, Gwilliam’s hand still under his chin, “Parties aren’t Liam’s thing. But we still find ways to have fun.”

The incubus frowned, moving his hand up to brush Oz’s cheek with his thumb.

“But you’re here without him. Perhaps, maybe you can have some fun, without him holding you back…” Gwilliam leaned forward, getting even closer, and Oz felt the color drop from his face. Hastily, he pushed his hand up against the incubus’s chest, and gracelessly stumbled back.

“I-I think I need to go to the bathroom--”

Without even bothering to hear a response, Oz turned on his heel, shouldering past the crowd with a heart pounding as fast as the thunderous music filling the house. He escaped to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, panting as he leaned against the wall, trying to gather what just happened.

Gwilliam knows Liam and him have been dating since prom. Hell, in half the chats Oz has with him at their lockers, it's about Liam-- goes to show what Oz spends most his time thinking about, but still. It’s well-established that he’s already taken.

With a shuddering breath, Oz exhaled. Maybe he’s reading too much into this, and jumping to conclusions with a charismatic demon who’s naturally very flirty with people around him. Still, it unsettled him enough to burn out his hunger for partying; he whipped out his phone from his back pocket to send a text to Liam asking if he can pick him up even earlier.

Yet, no more than a few words into his text, there was a knock at the door, followed by an unprompted entrance as if the knock was more of a forewarning than a request to be let in.

Oz pressed his back against the bathroom wall, almost dropping his phone as Gwilliam entered with a dejected frown and two beers in hand.

“Hey, you were looking as pale as a ghost out there, and that’s saying something given the whole shadow thing.” He offered out one of the beers, clearly the one Oz left back at the table, and hesitantly pulled a smile on his lips. “Look, I know I can come off as too strong with people, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hesitantly, Oz grasped out towards his beer and immediately took a heavy swig to ease his nerves.

“I-I didn’t mean to offend you, i-it’s just I don’t think Liam would like seeing something like that…” As non-confrontational as he could, Oz tried to restate his current relationship status.

Darkly, the incubus chuckled. “He really keeps you on a tight leash, I take it?”

The phrasing of his words sat wrong with Oz, and he sighed as he swallowed down another heavy gulp of beer. “It's not like that. You’re misunderstanding this.”

Gwilliam took a step closer, enough to make Oz have to look up just to meet his eyes-- those dark, stygian blue eyes.

“I don’t think I am. Look how tense you are, always worrying about what he thinks. How does that seem right?” This time, he leaned a hand up against the wall Oz was backed up against, effectively cornering him. “You should forget about Liam. Unwind a bit, have a little bit of fun for once. And let me tell you, I’d say I’m way more fun than that hipster trash--”

“L-Look, I’m _really_ not interested.” Gathering every sliver of boldness he could, Oz hastily brought his freehand up against the incubus, pushing back hard enough that he almost dropped his beer. “I was just thinking about leaving this party anyways-- Liam was right, this place isn’t my thing.”

Ducking under Gwilliam’s arm, Oz made a break to the door, only taking a couple steps before a harsh yank on his arm pulled him back. He practically stumbled back into the monster behind him, dropping his beer bottle and shattering it on the bathroom tile.

A broad arm wrap over his shoulder in front of his torso, and Oz immediately tried sinking down to try and snake out of the hold, only to have the larger monster behind him press Oz’s back into the front of his body with an almighty grip.

“Look at you, practically brainwashed into letting a perfectly good opportunity pass you by. You think that’s fair? Letting him hold you back?”

Oz’s head was pounding, and his stomach was in his throat. Whether it was the heat of the incubus or the chill of Oz’s fear, Gwilliam felt practically sweltering to be pinned against; like a wounded animal, Oz mindlessly squirmed and struggled, gripping his clammy hands into the incubus’ forearm to dig in his short nails as best he could.

Gwilliam chuckled, low and deep, more amused with his squirming than threatened. Oz even tried pulling up his feet to drop his dead weight on Gwilliam to get him to release, only for him to use Oz’s lack of stability against him and throw him down stomach-first into the tile.

“S-STOP!!” Oz screamed, cutting his hands and cheek on the beer bottle shards littering the floor. There wasn’t even a moment for him to push himself up; his head throbbed again, and he felt the large incubus’s full weight sit down on his back, slamming his hand against the back of Oz’s neck to keep his face pressed into the floor.

The room was spinning. The distant party music started mixing into a meaningless garble. This wasn’t just fear or terror-- something was _wrong_ with Oz’s head.

“A fucking lightweight like you should’ve been out by now.” Gwilliam sneered, shifting more weight onto Oz’s tiny frame. Oz’s throat was scratchy and dry, and his vision starting to cloud, almost as if he had downed ten shots in a row.

But Oz didn’t. He barely even had a few beers.

Chest tightening up and faltering mind too feeble to entirely focus, Oz started sobbing.

He couldn’t even think straight at this point. Everything was distorted and hazy, and all he could feel was the cold tile pressed against his face and the cuts burning on his hands and cheek from the spilt beer getting into the lacerations.

Heaving, Oz vaguely realized he began pleading. Stuttering, jumbling his words, but still pleading in between his sobs none-the-less.

“P-please _no_ \-- Get off, _please_ g-get off--”

It felt as if he couldn’t even get enough air in his lungs without the incubus crushing down so hard it escaped him. Leaving his lips on broken sobs and whimpers, like a vain grasp towards a lifesaver in a muddled sea of confusion and terror.

Everything was getting dark. The room, his vision, his mind…

But Oz heard one last thing. One low, deep chuckle behind him before he slipped under.

“What a joke-- All those times chatting me up at school, and now you wanna play clueless?” The grip on the back of his neck practically strangled him, betraying Gwilliam’s rage. “You get so close just to push me away. I don’t think it works like that, Oz.”

And then, everything slipped away. Gone. Empty.

Blank.

 

\---------------------------

 

The familiar rumble of his cell phone went off, muffled and faint.

His head pounded. Everything was hazy, and his lower stomach scorched in pain.

Oz shifted with a sore groan, realizing he was in a bed. It was still too dark to see, probably still before dawn, but he still opened up his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows.

Is this Liam’s bed? Oz remembered something about having a planned date night with him. But this isn’t right, he can’t seem to remember—

Wait. That cell phone rumble, that was coming from the floor.

Oz squinted, vaguely towards the source of the sound, and surely enough saw a crumple of fabric on the floor.

His throat tightened up.

That’s his pants. Piled right next to what looks like his boxers.

Already beginning to breathe heavy, Oz tried to make sense of his jumbled mind. He must’ve had too much to drink last night. Must’ve gotten a stomach ache and removed his tight jeans before falling asleep in one of the rooms at the party.

After all, his stomach awfully hurt. The lower part was sore and burning, protesting with each subtle shift.

Wait. The bed didn't feel right.

The sheets felt wet.

His chest clenched up, and his heart dropped. Oz pulled back the covers, and pushed up enough to look down.

It was a light puddle of blood, seeped into the sheets under his thighs.

Terrified, he gripped his hands into the bedding, balling them up as he sucked in a pained sob.

From the waist down, he was completely naked. Bruises and scratches marked him up from his thighs to his stomach. And there was no one in this room but him.

The cell phone rumbled again.

Throwing his head up, he saw the soft glow of the screen through the fabric of his crumpled jeans. Oz shifted to get off this disgusting bed, to distance himself from that stain of blood— but the moment he tried to stand, his insides screamed in pain, and he practically tumbled to his knees and hands. The cuts all along his palms smarted with the impact, perhaps even reopening a few.

Another heave, half like a sob of agony and half like a start of a panic attack. Reaching out to the phone tucked in his pants pocket, Oz illuminated the screen to see the time four thirty-two AM flash, along with several missed texts and calls from Liam.

Hand quivering, he opened the latest message.

 

_Either you’re ignoring me or you got blackout drunk. Either way, I’m disappointed._

 

The words made him physically nauseous. The lurid bright screen almost distorted the text, but Oz knew that was his foggy mind still scrambling to wake up.

Before he could do anything, think of a reply, think of something to do to get off the floor he was down on, the rumbling went off again— right in his hand.

Liam’s caller ID flashed onto the screen, along with the bright green ‘accept call’ button.

His stomach was searing, and his throat was dry. Sniveling, steadying his voice, Oz accepted the call, and shakily pressed the phone to his ear.

“About fucking time! What, did you pass out at the party? What the fuck was that about!?” Liam’s words were seething, and Oz nearly choked.

He couldn’t say a word. Trembling, the phone nearly slipped out his clammy hand, and painfully Oz barely stifled a broken sob.

But he didn’t do a good job at stifling. Liam heard the choked noise.

“Oz? Oz, what's going on? Where are you?”

This time he didn’t try stifling. Hoarsely, Oz let out a soft cry, straining his dry throat.

“I-I don’t know what happened— I can’t… I can’t _remember_ what happened. I’m, I-I’m on the floor and it hurts to get up—” Without even trying to speak coherently, words just fell from Oz’s lips. Some on whimpers, some on sobs.

“I don’t understand, Oz, why are you on the floor? Did you drink too much?”

Wincing, Oz shook his head, even though Liam wasn’t there to see.

“I-I barely drank, I swear. But… s-something happened last night… I’m… I’m _bleeding_.” The words were barely comprehensible at this point. Each one was followed by an onslaught of heaves and sobs.

“ _Bleeding_? Bleeding where, how bad?!”

Oz can’t say it. He can’t, he can’t, it hurts too much to put to words.

But somehow, his mouth still opened.

“B-bleeding… between m-my legs.”

The line went silent.

Before Liam could say a word, Oz hastily pressed end call. He didn’t know why, he didn’t even do it consciously— but he couldn’t stand what Liam would say back to him. Oz can’t stand to even hear another second of his voice.

Curling his knees to his chest, he dipped his head low and tuned out the sore burn in his lower stomach, sobbing hard into his knees. Cotton and fog filled his head every time he tried to remember how much he drank, or what had even happened.

The last thing he remembers was having a beer with Gwilliam at the drink table.

Everything else about the night was blank.


	2. Impossible Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz and Liam have a painful reunion after the wake of what happened the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter settles in heavier into my element; a bit of symbolism and allusions for those who got an eye for it. I don't even know if this can count as a hurt/comfort with the amount of hurt overshadowing everything. Also as a side note, since I'm not sure where else to ever mention this, this story takes place after Oz successfully went to prom with Liam, meaning his personality traits and interests more closely resembles that of someone with a lot of smarts and creativity, as those are the stats needed to appeal to Liam in the game.

There exist false colors in this world, colors that only appear as an illusion of the eye.

Oz has heard of them by many names, such as forbidden colors, or impossible colors. Perhaps the former name seemed too fictitious and edgy, because he always favored the latter name. Impossible colors exist in the world, and one needs only basically biological knowledge (coupled with an understanding on color wavelengths) to understand why they exist. But, since it seems to Oz that during school practically none of his classmates actually attend class— besides Liam, that is— it’s fair that these impossible colors aren’t in the general lexicon at school. 

But they exist. Chimerical colors were Oz’s favorite; colors only seen for a moment, by fooling the eye. There’s three categories to chimerical impossible colors: hyperbolic, the colors impossibly over saturated. Self-luminous, the colors that appear brighter than white. And finally, stygian colors, colors darker than black.

Anyone can trick their mind to see these colors. The most common method to see a stygian impossible color, and Oz’s personal favorite way, was staring at a yellow circle for a few moments, before immediately looking at a completely black image. The result was seeing stygian blue, a chimerical color that exists as a darker-than-black navy. 

Sounds impossible? That’s how they got their name.

The thing was, these colors were fabricated by the mind on accident. There is no such thing as stygian blue, not in nature. It’s all an illusion of the eye.

Which was why it puzzled Oz that he could see it, in this almost pitch-black bedroom.

Stygian blue. 

He was leaning with his back against the side of the bed, sitting on the floor with his knees tucked insecurity tight to his chest. After what seemed like an eternity sobbing into his knees, it felt like Oz had cried out every emotion left in his body. Limply, he tossed his head back to lay it against the bed, staring up at the cimmerian black ceiling until he saw it.

It took a few moments before he could quite name what he was seeing. But he was sure— rather than black, the darkness looked stygian blue. But there was no way the actual ceiling was the source of the color; like all impossible colors, this was a product of Oz’s mind.

But why was that color stuck in his head?

He was seeing stygian blue, with some sort of unnerving depth to it. It almost scared him. It almost reminded him of something. 

And then the words came to him, isolated from any context or meaning: _dark, stygian blue eyes._

He sucked in a painful breath. Oz _remembers_ stygian blue eyes.

The door suddenly slammed open, flooding the room with light from the hallway and breaking Oz’s train of thought.

“You _are_ still here— God, Oz, you weren’t answering and I couldn’t get any straight answers from Polly on where you could be in this house—” Liam stormed in, clearly in a fluster, obviously having been unstrategically opening every bedroom door in Polly’s surprisingly large manor to try and find him. 

“M-my phone died—” Oz hastily lied, almost automatically, just as Liam dropped to his knees and pulled him up into an embrace. Oz had to lean up off the side of the bed just to accept, but it wasn’t like he was going to pretend he wasn’t starving for a secure, comforting hug.

Already, despite it previously feeling like he had already sobbed out every ounce of emotion in him, Oz felt his throat start tightening up again. Desperately, his hands reached around, clutching into Liam’s sweater and burying his face in the vampire’s shoulder.

Liam felt frozen. And it wasn’t just his cold, undead body that was hinting this to Oz; his body noticeably stiffened up, and Oz vaguely felt the vampire’s own hands grip tensing into his back.

It took Oz a second before he realized it. Liam could see over his shoulder in this embrace. Over at the blood-stained bed Oz had barely managed to crawl out of.

If the blood was discernible in the pitch-black, then it was absolutely lurid with the light flooding in from the hallway.

“Oh _god_ , Oz…” He whispered in a hushed, muted tone. As if actually seeing the bleeding Oz mentioned on the phone made everything too real. Made everything paint a vivid picture of what exactly happened to his lover on that bed only a few hours ago.

“I-It’s not that bad, I-I’m _fine_ , everything is _fine—_ ” More words Oz could barely call his own clawed up his throat, trying to downplay the absolute horror that had happened here. As if minimizing it could make it so it didn’t exist.

“Everything is _not_ fine!” Liam snapped, borderline enraged, before he could realize that the shaken-up Oz immediately interpreted that anger with fear. Fear that Liam was in any way upset with him, rather than his assailant. 

“I’m s-sorry—” 

“No, no, there’s not one thing you should be feeling sorry for… ” The vampire interrupted before Oz could finish, lightening up his grip and leaning back, trying to get a better look at his broken lover. Oz had his head dipped low, hiding the dried tears streaked down his cheeks and the cuts on the right side of his face. Sucking in a heartbroken inhale, Liam brought his hand up, gently holding the side that didn’t bear a trail of lacerations and faint bruises.

“Your face…” Liam’s words caused Oz to immediately squeeze his eyes shut, leaning into the vampire’s hand meekly. In all honesty, Oz wished his dark shadowy complexion hid the majority of the marks, but he already knew that bad bruises tended to show up noticeably purple and violet on his skin. 

Trembling, he dropped his arms off from around Liam, and hesitantly offered them out with his palms and wrists skyward. Liam glanced down from Oz’s face at them, and barely stifled another pained gasp at the surprisingly deep-looking gashes and cuts along Oz’s palms and upper wrists.

“I… I-I don’t know where they came from,” barely able to keep still, Oz raised a shaky hand to the one Liam had against his cheek, and pressed against it. Like a silent request for Liam not to let go, as if he would’ve actually pulled his hand away if Oz didn’t. “I can’t remember anything about last night. I-I had a beer and was talking to friends, and then… then…”

Blank. 

Everything after that was blank.

“... then, I just woke up _here_.” Oz opened his dull white eyes up at Liam. They were slightly misty and hazy, like the morning fog that cloaked the ground right after dawn. Fog that needs only the sun to thaw, and clear up the world from all confusion; but in Oz’s white eyes, Liam saw no sun in sight. Usually they had a bright energy and hue to them, but now, Oz’s eyes looked akin to a murky brume. Dull and bleak.

“M-my head _really_ is foggy… I don’t know, maybe I _did_ drink too much, maybe I didn’t leave that beer table for a while…” grasping at straws for some kind of coherent explanation, Oz began to doubt whether he really did only have a few beers last night. With his thin built, it wouldn’t take too many drinks to get him slurring his words and making bad choices. And, what if, one of those bad choices was going to bed with some random stranger without even remembering it…

“No, you would've at least _remembered_ getting that drunk first. Oz, I…” Liam drew in a hesitant breath, hating that he had to look into Oz’s dull broken eyes while saying his next words. “…I-I think you were drugged.”

A few tears began beading in the corner of Oz’s eyes, and he bit his trembling bottom lip. Liam already started feeling a shallow pit in his stomach, feeling awful for breaking the revelation to him.

“Oz, did you… Did you accept any drinks from anyone? Even one that you had just set down for a second?” 

Weakly, Oz began shaking his head, more so in denial than rejection to the idea. That’s the most textbook rule when it came to parties, not to return to a drink after setting it down. Yet, somehow, the back of his mind burned— some part of that idea felt familiar.

_Two beers in hand._

More out-of-context memories vaguely played in tune to Oz’s mind. Someone had two drinks, and Oz took one. 

“I-I’m a fucking _idiot_ ,” Oz suddenly stammered, leaning back into a clingy grasp around Liam. “I-I took a drink from someone. I _remember_ taking a drink. Someone offered me a beer and I _remember taking it—_ ”

“Shh, no, no it's not your fault,” Liam’s own voice was getting a bit shaky, but out of the two of them he had to be the stable one. If he wasn’t some kind of anchor for Oz, then they’d _both_ be lost in a sea of tears and confusion. “You can’t feel bad for some prick taking advantage of you trusting a drink from them. You said you were with friends, right? You didn’t talk to any strangers at the party?”

Sinking into his hold, Oz struggled to steady his breathing. “I don’t think so. I-I don’t know…”

Suddenly, on the floor no more than a few feet away, his phone rumbled again.

With a guilty swallow, Oz slipped out of the hold, and immediately pressed his face into his hands in embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry, my phone didn’t actually die—”

“It’s fine.” Liam huffed, knowing he can’t be upset with Oz for not wanting to talk about it over the phone, but still being slightly irritated nonetheless. He can’t force (or even expect) Oz to be responsive and proactive in this situation, at least not with everything being so sudden and jarring.

Reaching out, Liam grabbed his phone and opened it, already knowing Oz’s passcode. The message was from Polly, whom Liam had woken from a drunken slumber not too long ago in the other room.

_Hey, Liam came storming in here looking for ya. Seemed hella pissed. If you slept with someone last night I recommend bouncing._

With a roll of his eyes, Liam opened up her contact and pressed call. He really didn’t explain much to her earlier, and perhaps his flustered demeanor came off more as looking for a cheating partner than anything else. He only really urged her to tell him where Oz was and if he was with another man last night, which in retrospect, does paint the scene in a drastically different light.

A groggy, hungover voice answered from the other side. Liam saw Oz stiffen up, but offered no objections to the call.

“Hey boo, you get my text? Liam’s looking for you, came in like ten minutes ago—”

“It’s not Oz.” Liam cut in coldly, despite reaching a gentle hand around Oz’s waist, rubbing softly into his lower back as if to wordlessly check if Oz was okay with Liam having this conversation with Polly. The only response was him sluggishly lifting his head out from his hands, just to lean back into Liam’s shoulder. 

Liam took that as a green light.

“Polly, when did you last see Oz last night?”

The words were cut and sharp, almost calculated despite the under swell of anger beneath them. Liam’s natural tone always had a hint of distaste and superiority to it, but right now aversion practically radiated from his words. It was no surprise when the voice on the other end stuttered.

“O-Oz? I already told you he was hanging around Vera, Damien, and me when he suddenly just left— why don’t you ask him yourself, seeming as you already got your hands on his phone?” There was a pause, not even lasting a second, before Polly quickly tried to remove herself from the confrontation. “It’s not my business what he got up to last night. Go find Oz if you want answers.”

Liam tightened his jaw, trying his best not to grip into Oz’s back in frustration. Even then, Oz could feel the originally smooth and soothing rubs turn stiff and hesitant with Liam’s rage.

“I already found him. But here’s the thing; _he has no clue what happened to him last night_.”

The sheer gravity in his words failed to register to Polly. Vaguely, he heard her nervously chuckle.

“Yeah, I mean that tends to happen at my parties… I mean, did you even take a look around here? I have no clue how the hell someone broke that chair in the dining room. And the bathroom? Who fucking knows how all that broken glass got on the floor.” 

She wasn’t getting it. Liam was almost seething; she actually thought this was about Oz getting wasted and hooking up with some rando. And it’s not like Liam could spell it out for her, not with Oz right here listening, not with him shaking like a leaf and holding onto Liam like he would crumble the second he let go.

But before Liam could gather himself to say anything back, Oz quietly spoke up, muffled against the collar of the vampire’s sweater. Liam almost didn’t expect Oz to be overhearing Polly so clearly on the phone.

“Broken glass in the bathroom?” Tilting his head to the side, Oz brought up a single wrist, looking at the deep scabs and lacerations almost blankly. 

Liam noticed, taking in another glance at Oz’s slashed up palm and wrist before easily seeing how it could’ve been dealt by the jagged edges of broken glass.

“Polly, we’ll talk about this later.”

Before the ghost could object, Liam ended the call, setting the phone aside. If it wasn’t for Oz still leaning into him, he would’ve stood up.

“Don’t go…” prematurely, Oz whimpered as he clung around the vampire’s slender body, as if Liam were to abandon him so suddenly.

“Look,” against all urges to just keep holding Oz against him, Liam pushed him back enough to sit up straight, holding both of his hands in his own. “We need to get a better idea of what happened last night, okay? I need to check if that glass is still in the bathroom. Are you okay enough to come with me?”

Oz’s gaze back at him seemed a bit spaced and blank, but Liam still noticed his watery white eyes blink off a tear down his cheek, and his lip slightly tremble. He didn’t say the obvious, that it was going to hurt to get up and walk. And when the pause grew a moment too long, Liam stole a glance down at Oz’s lap, despite the churning pit in his stomach screaming for him not to look at what Liam had been avoiding looking at all this time.

Oz’s exposed thighs were darkened with deep violet bruises, and long rakes of scratches ran down them lengthwise. While nowhere near as deep as the cuts on his palms, some of the scratches had obviously drew blood, forming light narrow scabs that somehow appeared more vicious than any other mark on Oz’s body.

Liam barely held down a pained choke.

“I-I can help you get dressed. That won’t hurt, would it? Getting into your jeans?” Despite trying to keep his voice positive for Oz’s sake, his tone was shaky and harrowed. 

Through all the tears, bruises, scratches and cuts, it was hard for Liam to remind himself where the most pain was coming from. He even remembered Oz mentioning on the phone how it hurt to try and even stand. Not a single thought in Liam’s head ever wished to be thinking about how badly Oz must be torn up between his legs to have bled so much, yet here he was, having to dwell on it just for the sake of figuring out how to get his lover off the floor in the least painful way possible.

Softly, Oz gave a jagged shake of his head.

“It’ll hurt…” he almost looked ashamed or embarrassed, breaking his eyes away from Liam’s to blankly stare into the floor. “Every little move hurts. Every… _Everything_ hurts.”

Trying to be proactive, Liam reached for the bundle of clothes bunched up on the floor, trying to mentally ignore that the button on Oz’s jeans was missing, obviously torn off from a heated attempt at removing them.

“Just your boxers, then…? The only monsters left here are blackout drunk, no one will see,” his eyes darted to the bed for a split second, and he hastily offered a bad idea before realizing it, “or maybe you can just wrap yourself in a blanket—”

Oz desperately shook his head, as if Liam had just offered him a morton's fork. “N-no. I’ll… I’ll try and put them on. I-I don’t want to touch those sheets.”

Swallowing down a trickle of guilt for suggesting, Liam nodded, slowly rising to a stand. 

The next sequence of events were a painful sight.

Oz, perhaps overly assertively, tried to stand up as well. Immediately wincing in pain, he staggered; Liam caught and steadied him, offering quiet words of praise and encouragement when Oz took a few moments to stabilize his stand. After that, the vampire helped him step into his boxer shorts, and slipped them up his legs as lightly as he could, trying not to agitate any of the bruising and scratches along the tender flesh of his thighs.

By the time Oz was as ready as he’ll ever be, Liam was still securely holding an arm around him to make sure he was stable. But before Oz could try taking a step, Liam again offered another aid.

“Perhaps, maybe, I could just carry you?” More so in confusion than anything else, Oz narrowed his eyes at Liam, clearly taken aback. The vampire quickly justified himself, “My slender form would lead you to believe otherwise, but vampires are naturally quite strong. Just because I’m disinclined to honing my strength doesn’t mean I don’t have it.”

Perhaps the candid words sounded a little bit too much like classic Liam. Perhaps there was a bit of humor to be found in the gym-adverse vampire offering to carry him. But for a second, a split moment through the backdrop of tension and stress, Oz’s lips pulled back into a weak smile, and he chuckled softly.

Seeing Oz lightly laugh, however hoarse and quiet, was like seeing land in the middle of the sea. Liam sighed softly, almost in relief, starting to see the Oz he knows and loves resurface, slowly but surely.

He smiled too. Perhaps even weaker than Oz did, but an authentic smile nonetheless.

Maybe they could come out of this alright.

Entertaining Liam’s offer, he let the vampire reach down and pick him up bridal style, of which was done with enough ease that Oz can only guess there really was truth in what Liam was saying about vampiric strength. And not wishing to ruin the lightened mood, Oz did his best to stifle a whimper of pain in the new position, holding his arms around Liam’s neck and resting his chin over his shoulder so that his face didn’t betray his physical discomfort. After all, there was something to enjoy about the intimacy of being carried, especially by a vampire who is so reluctant to embrace his natural abilities that he often makes an effort to advertise against them.

There was a warm feeling at the bottom of Oz’s chest. Comfort.

As Liam stepped into the hallway, Oz thought he saw something in the shadows of the dark room behind them. Just barely, a flicker of illusion caught his sight. That familiar hue he can foggily recall from the night before, surfacing once again from the corners of his mind and playing tricks in his vision. 

That warm feeling in his chest froze over.

Stygian blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Oz starting to become an unreliable narrator? Heck yeah, you think anyone in that state will be thinking straight? Get ready for some sketchy framing. Reality is subjective and nobody knows what's going on.
> 
> (In case you're wondering, stygain blue and other impossible colors are [real](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impossible_color))
> 
> (Also also, there is actually a bit of grey area in the ability of drugged date rape victims to vaguely recall events, particularly with the [certain drug](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamma-Hydroxybutyric_acid#Date_rape_drug) I chose to be the culprit. And while GHB isn't the most common date rape drug (alcohol takes that medal), it is actually more commonly used than Roofies)


	3. Razors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to find clear answers, assumptions and scapegoats rise up within the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than the last two mainly due to me taking up a second job. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

With all the events the world holds stage to, there are bound to be mysteries.

Unfightable, frustrating, but very real mysteries. Things happen, and everyone witness to it can’t quite put their finger on why it had happened. Stories get made up. Assumptions get called upon. Everything dissolves into a mess.

How is one to solve a problem like this, where there’s thousands of possible explanations? Simple; philosophical razors.

In philosophy, a razor is a rule or standard that allows frivolous answers to be shaven off of the mystery. It narrows the scope, and allows some light to be shed.

There’s a few Oz knew by heart, if only because philosophy (no surprise) was a common topic between Liam and him. There were ones Oz was quick to put on his tongue whenever he and his boyfriend may differ in opinion, usually if Liam was purposely trying to take an unpopular stance for the sake of seeming hip and original. It almost made any disagreement between them lighthearted, as one was quick to point out a fallacy or razor to counter the other’s viewpoint.

The most common Oz always regressed to seemed to be Occam’s Razor; when there are multiple answers to the same question or mystery, the one that requires the fewest assumptions ought to be investigated first.

Or, as it’s stripped down to mean in mainstream culture: the simplest answer is most often the correct one.

Razors were efficient in that regard. Narrowing down choices and conclusions.

However, how is one to find the simplest answer to a mystery, when there were no present answers to begin with?

That’s where logic starts falling apart.

And without it, neither Oz nor Liam stood a chance.

“... Maybe I dropped my beer, slipped and cut my hands?” Oz offered, without even trying to sound a little bit confident in his guess, as he leaned back heavily on the bathroom counter to take as much weight out of his stand as possible.

Liam was crouched on the floor, picking up the largest of shards for a brief examination, before returning them to the sticky floor of dried beer and faint blood smears. Just faint enough to not raise alarm with any subsequent party-goers who must’ve surely went to the bathroom after Oz, but present to know that someone was surely hurting in here.

At least, assuming this was Oz’s beer shattered on the bathroom tile. But with a lack of any other explanations for his lover’s cut face and hands, Liam seemed to invest full faith in Oz’s night somehow lending into this bathroom.

“Perhaps. But… I don’t know how bad you could’ve slipped to have gotten those bruises.” The vampire, rather sympathetically despite his tone trying to force an analytical nature in his observation, glanced over to Oz’s bruised and cut up cheek. First logical thought suggested maybe Oz could’ve hit his face on the counter whilst slipping, but even then it wouldn’t account for the deep cuts along his cheekbone. His hands should’ve still broke his fall if he did actually hit it, accounting for some bad bruising on his face but not any of those deep cuts that were so obviously done by cut glass.

It was almost like… his face was _pressed_ into the floor.

The intrusive idea made Liam visibly shiver, and the current shard of glass he had in hand slip out of his cold grip.

It wasn’t a pleasant picture to have in his head. None of this was.

And the more Liam tried to mentally distance himself from his trail of deductions, trying to look at all of this with a logical mind rather than an emotional one, the worse he felt. Almost like reading about a crime story or article, where all the events are impersonal and all the characters are strangers. A story that a reader can morbidly dwell on, but reserve a natural distance from because the mystery or crime has absolutely nothing to do with them or anyone they know. A story that almost borders on being mentally fictitious because of how impersonal everything is.

But this _wasn’t_ like reading a story.

The assailant wasn’t an nameless villain, nor was the victim an archetype. Even further; the victim wasn’t even a stranger.

It was Oz.

Liam knows him. Liam _loves_ him-- and having to see all this, and piece together a horrific crime against his lover from a night before, simply made everything grossly vivid and downright lurid. It was hard to have an analytical mind about this. It was hard to hold onto logic.

It was hard to even think straight.

Hastily, as if to physically get further from the shards of glass and smears of dried blood on the tile, Liam stood up, obviously shaken up and skin growing paler than liliac. Oz watched him take a few staggering steps back, until his back was against the wall, pushing a nervous hand under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“H-hey...” Despite being in no coherent state himself, Oz took a couple weak steps away from the counter he was using as a crutch, offering solace with two (admittedly trembling) hands wrapping securely around Liam’s waist. Perhaps it wasn’t the strongest of embraces, but Oz still pulled the dazed vampire against him, holding him in close as he buried his face into the crook of Liam’s neck.

“The worst is over. I-it’s done with, I’m okay, it’s all fine now--”

“ _Please_ stop saying this is fine.” Liam interrupted, almost pleadingly, tightly wrapping his own arms around Oz to reciprocate the comfort. His breath trembled against Oz’s shoulder, harrowed and lost. This scene was no place for a sound mind. “W-we need to take you to the hospital. Staying here isn’t helping anything-- we need to leave, get you some help, call the cops--”

His words were utterly defenseless. Like Liam was just realizing how out of his control this all was; and in response, desperately trying to reach out to some sort of stability. As if it was possible to delegate the stress off of him and Oz to some police officer or investigator.

“The _cops_!?” Startled, Oz pulled back, as if Liam was coming out of left field for recommending law enforcement. “We can’t call them, Liam, you know how bad that would be? Damien brought at least nine different illegal weapons, Polly had every drug in history here, and I’m pretty sure Vera invited several gangs for some kind of weird networking-- You know just how many _other_ crimes happened here last night!?”

Coldly, Liam scoffed. “And what, that gives anyone the greenlight to do whatever they please here? All morality goes out the window?”

The emptiness in Liam left by defeat was being replaced with anger again. Oz’s eyes softened, meekly breaking them away from him, having a hard time keeping eye contact when Liam’s golden irises were positively alight with rage. “It’s not worth the trouble. P-please _,_ Liam, no cops.”

“I don’t think you’re in a good state right now to make that decision, Oz.”

Oz heard Liam pause, sucking in a frustrated breath to try his best to not direct his anger at him. But Oz didn’t even give Liam a chance to cool off and justify his idea, quickly interrupting to try and force Liam’s hand.

“I-I won’t talk to them if you call. If you get them involved, _I won’t say a word._ ”

Practically growling at Oz’s words, Liam pushed him off. Not overly hard, but enough to convey he was frustrated with Oz’s wishes, unable to hold him in an embrace when Oz was acting so difficult and illogical about this.

“Are you _kidding me_!? All three of them already have a criminal record, you really think Damien is gonna care getting jailed for a couple nights again? Or Vera is going to take any issues with having to bribe the cops off her? It’s all _counterintuitive_!”

Although not Liam’s intent, Oz stumbled back hard considering his circumstances, reaching out his clammy hands to vainly grasp to the counter again. It didn’t take more than a second watching for Liam to immediately regret the frustrated push, and reach out to help hold around Oz’s arms to stabilize him. His expression was still cold, upset, and grounded in his words; yet, Liam was not one to let that cloud his intent. He did not mean harm to Oz, Liam only wished he could see that there was other help out there for him.

“P-please, Liam, I-I couldn’t stand having this be a bother, not to our friends, not to everyone.” Perhaps between Liam’s push and his bitter words, Oz found his stomach clawing up his throat, and the beginning of newfound tears dot his lashes. Causing trouble over this seemed too out of the way, at least in Oz’s mind; he wished that there was something in his power to make it so that whatever happened last night never existed. The less people knew, the less he bothers everyone with it, the more Oz gets closer to making it nonexistent.

And why Liam could not see the same entirely escaped Oz.

“Oz, this isn’t a bother. It was never a bother…” While his tone was still upset, Liam couldn’t stand to hold said anger while watching Oz practically crumble before his eyes. “You can’t think for a second that you would trouble anyone by this. Whether the cops get involved or not, anything that surfaces from this will _not_ be your fault.”

A single, shaky finger from Oz quickly swiped beneath his lashes. Hiding the tears before they fall. Hiding the shame he would have in involving everyone.

“I-I can’t stand the thought. The thought of everyone… knowing.” One hand kept holding stable to the counter, but the other idly gripped at the hem of Liam’s sweater, like a surrogate of security. “Please just… don’t let them know. Don’t call the cops. Don’t make this bigger than it has to be…”

A soft part in Liam’s aged heart ached. Oz sincerely thought it would be trouble if people knew. That he would be a bother by getting the police involved; or perhaps, it would be a shame. A embarrassment of weakness, a moment of failure that led him to be preyed upon.

None of which was true. But none of which would be easy for Liam to convince him otherwise.

The most he could do at present was simply offer a compromise.

“Would the hospital be too much, then…? No police, but perhaps an evaluation. You know, t-they’re fully confidential, t-the…” The words couldn’t quite come out of Liam’s throat. He choked, hesitating on it, before forcing it out as a poor attempt to downplay the weight behind them.

“— the… rape kits. Y-you don’t have to report it, they just keep it on record just in case…”

“I _can’t_ , Liam…” hearing the very word itself made his stomach knot up, and Oz practically wheezed in a half-sob. “I-I don’t wanna…”

“No one has to even know, Oz, it’s just a precaution!” The hands he had around his shoulders tightened, more in a secure way than in a overburdening one, and Liam tried his best to reason through the grief. “And hypothetically, if they can get any DNA matches in their system, maybe there could be a silver lining to the whole procedure, you know?”

Oz swallowed a hard lump down his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave a meek shrug, breaking Liam’s hands off him. “I-I _really_ don’t want to.”

After a moment’s pause, taking in a second to steady his breathing, Oz took a glance up to take in Liam’s expression. Of which was a mixture of confusion, concern, and utter heartbreak.

Oz quickly justified himself, however weak it was.

“I-I don’t want anyone else _touching_ me, Liam— I don’t want anymore foreign hands on my body.”

Liam winced. Oz has a point, however illogical it was. While there’s merit in keeping evidence from a rape kit on record, there’s also the pain of having a multiple-hour long procedure to collect evidence. Not only one that would be mentally painful, but downright physically invasive. At the very least, a trained nurse would have to do a in-depth external examination. At the very most, they’d likely have to take internal swabs for any residue semen, or even a flat-out digital exam. Understandably none of the above sounded anyway near Oz’s comfort zone. And it was hard for Liam to argue against his lover’s comfort and security for the sake of official records to be added on file.

“DNA evidence would help a lot, I-I know it doesn’t sound pleasant but it’s the best shot to narrow the scope.” Although starting to lack conviction in his own words, Liam doubled down on his stance regardless. Logic and reasoning were easy pillars of stability to cling to, at least while the rest were crumbling around him.

Whimpering in repulsion to the idea of going to the hospital and having yet another stranger put their hands all over him, Oz gave a persistent shake of his head. “It’s not fair, I-I hardly even talked to that many guys at the party. Why do we even need DNA evidence when we already know it must’ve been someone here last night?”

Very bad reasoning considering the massive crowd that usually attends Polly’s parties, but Liam strung the idea along anyways.

“If you can remember any of the men you talked to, perhaps…?”

Liam gave him a moment, and Oz was quick to come up with some names; if only, just to avoid the hospital idea. “I remember talking mostly with Polly, Vera, Damien, and—”

“ _Damien_.” Liam cut in, with a bitter frown at the first male name he heard. Already predispositioned to be suspicious of anyone who had the capacity to do Oz harm.

A complete look of horror fell on Oz’s face, shocked with the accusation in Liam’s tone.

“No, Liam he wouldn’t do something like _that_!”

“Oh, but _wouldn’t_ he? He’s practically the most violent student at school. No regard for the well-being of others. No care for who he hurts.” With each syllable growing more and more bitter as Liam started pinning a scapegoat, Oz had to practically grip into ceramic counter just to still the sudden dizzy spell overcoming him at the thought of Damien doing something like that. “First arson, then physical violence, then flat-out murder… how far of a cry is sexual assault for him, really?”

“B-but he _wouldn’t_ — How could you say something like that about one of our _friends_?!”

Taking a step forward, Liam’s golden eyes darkened a bit. Too jaded by the centuries to see better. “Most rapists are people the victim already knows, not strangers. It’s simple deduction.”

“It’s simple _stereotyping_ is what it is.” Responsively, Oz took a step back, flanking against the wall with a hand still tight around the sink’s brim. “You’re just looking for a scapegoat. The easiest answer you can find. That’s not _fair_ to him, Liam—”

“No, it is. It’s like you always tell me,” another step forward, almost too assertively for the vampire’s nature, and Oz was growing fainter in the head the long he watched Liam’s eyes waxing.

“... Occam's Razor, Oz.”

The world practically mouldered from beneath him. Fuzzy blackness crept into the edges of his vision. The sick feeling in his stomach was swallowing itself, digesting Oz’s fear and leaving behind absolute emptiness at the confrontation.

Occam’s Razor; the simplest answer is most often true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it ironic if I use literary tragic irony? It's never been high on my list of favorite rhetorical terms but I think it's par for the course with these characters. In all honestly, dramatic irony is the only type of irony I really ever like using, it adds a bit of a bitter taste to everything.
> 
> Perhaps might lighten up a bit in the next chapter? I plan for it be less hurtful, but we'll see what tone I take when pen hits paper. I not sure how many of you are really reading for happiness at this point.


	4. Distortions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After coming home together, Liam and Oz take a long shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Hang your head and cry if you like, but[all is well that ends.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSOl7lYSE3c)"_

No one ever sees the world as it is.

One may think they do, but it’s nothing but a verisimilitude. Everyone’s reality is a distortion of what is true. And the belief in that distortion is strong; to them, that is what the world really is.

But reality is subjective, and no one individual holds the right answer.

Oz could attest to that. He’d stopped arguing against Liam, as his boyfriend had already pinned a culprit, despite an obvious distortion in his reasoning. And while Oz wasn’t wholeheartedly agreeing in the slightest that Damien was the one who hurt him last night, he was keeping his mouth shut, unable to argue anymore without feeling faint in the head at the sheer mental picture it brought. Filling in the void gaps in his memory with images of Damien’s hands being the ones raking his skin, digging into the flesh until bruises blossomed, throwing his limp unconscious body onto the bed as he shut the door behind him… the blood in his veins ran cold as ice at his own runaway imagination, dwelling on what he refused to believe but couldn’t help mentally picture anyways. Oz ceased his rebuttals against Liam’s accusations, just in hopes to cease the accompanying images searing into the back of his head.

Besides, now that Liam seemed to have a solid suspect in his crosshairs, he seemed to have allowed Oz to dismiss the hospital idea; at Oz’s utmost persistence, the vampire agreed to finally take him home.

Polly’s house was still dead asleep, with monsters either blackout drunk or on some level of overdose that would keep them under until well past dawn. Despite the slight coldness between them in wake of the dispute over Damien’s whereabouts the night before, Liam still offered to help carry Oz to his car, helping him into his seat and closing the passenger door behind him.

Before rounding about to the driver’s side, Liam quickly brought out his phone, shooting Polly a quick text out of Oz’s line of sight.

_Where was Damien last night?_

With no further context or elaboration, Liam sent the text, before settling into the driver’s seat and twisting his keys. With a jarring rumble, the car came to life.

The whole ride was eerie silence. Like an extension of the house they’d left, the streets were silent and barren, with nothing but the light navy of approaching dawn giving the world color. The early morning clouds were muddled and dense, like a fragile blanket over the world, hiding beneath it the secrets of the night before.

Oz didn’t even object when he noticed they weren’t taking the route to his own house. Which was fair enough; despite the bit of upset stirred by Liam’s insistence of Damien’s guilt, Oz couldn’t imagine going home by himself after this. He would much rather be looked after by his boyfriend at his place instead.

After all, loneliness was one step lower on the staircase he had fallen down; Oz felt as if he was at an absolute lowest now, but if Liam were to leave him alone, he knew there were deeper trenches to sink to. Depression was nothing but a shovel that relentlessly dug him deeper, and sorrow knows no depth.

As if some kind of luck was on their side, they arrived at Liam’s place before the light of dawn could spill over the distant mountains and envelope the world in day. Liam was much intolerant to the solar rays of daytime, but usually faired by fine enough with an umbrella. Yet, since they beat the sun, Liam had both hands free to help Oz inside, as to Oz’s utmost embarrassment he still had an unsteady and sore walk. No amount of being on his feet helped him to quite adjust to the clawing feeling in his lower stomach.

Such a minor thing to serve as such a bitter reminder; but, Liam had absolutely no words of protest carrying him once again. In fact, he had been practically silent since they left Polly’s house, up until he managed to bring Oz up to his bedroom.

“Bed or shower?” The first breaking words to the silence between them were uncharacteristically soft, accompanied by Liam giving a quick glance down at the monster in his arms. Oz tightened his grip around Liam’s shoulders, nervously keeping his gloomy white eyes low to avoid meeting the vampire’s.

At least Liam was being considerate in asking. And while Oz was sore and still groggy, wanting nothing more than to cuddle up in Liam’s familiar bed and sleep off all these bad feelings inside him, he also was very much aware of his current physical state. His entire body was a residue of violation, and whatever he could wash off from himself he will.

“Shower, please.” Oz responded quite quietly, letting out a shaky huff with his words. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant time, but it was something that needed to be done. The blood has to come off.

Some was still caked dry on the insides of his thighs.

“Very well. You can borrow some of my clothes.” Entering the bathroom door adjacent to his bedroom, Liam helped him down, letting Oz lean against the marble counters that lined the inside walls while he went to fetch some towels and clothes. Lucky for the two of them, Oz and Liam had a very similar built and size. This gave the vampire the luxury to even try and find a shirt he had in Oz’s favorite color, even though he wouldn’t admit he did so on purpose if Oz mentions it.

When he came back with the folded pile of clothes and towels, Oz was already working off his yellow sweater and undershirt, tugging it over his head. Startled, Liam stifled a little gasp and almost dropped what he had in hand when he noticed that the bruises and scratches running along Oz’s thighs went all the way up to his stomach and waist. Liam had only seen the marks on his thighs back at Polly’s, and almost completely assumed that those were the extent of what his assailant had left behind.

Oz heard the poorly stifled gasp, and hastily tugged both the sweater and shirt completely off, before moving fast to use both the clothes and his arms to cover over his lower stomach meekly. With an embarrassed shutter, he stared down at the shadows enveloping his feet, unable and unwilling to look up at Liam’s expression.

Liam could see Oz’s jaw painfully tighten, holding back something. Whether it was unnecessary words of apology or the start of a broken sob, Liam didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want Oz to feel alienated just because his bruised and battered body was showcasing abuse he couldn’t even remember from the night before.

“T-there’s no need to hide it. I don’t mind,” Liam lied with a strain in his tone, obviously wanting Oz to feel comfortable around him but not being able to quite suppress the chill in his words to seeing that the marks continued up Oz’s torso.

Without waiting for a response, Liam considerately turned around, sliding open the shower glass door and turning the faucet on to hot, before idly taking his time to test his hand through the water and gauge it to a needlessly precise temperature, giving the facet dial little turns to get it just right. Even though in reality, he was just giving Oz a moment to relax without being watched and finish undressing.

Even though Liam’s back was turned, Oz wasn’t quite ready to take off his boxers. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if Liam was intending on joining and helping him in the shower, or if he was going to leave after getting everything set for him.

But he need not wonder on it too long, as Liam turned around after giving him a few moments, noticing Oz still partially dressed and asking him himself.

“Do you want me joining you? You can shower alone if you wish, but I don’t mind if you want me to be there.”

The forwardness caught him off guard. Without meaning to, Oz made an uncertain noise in the back of his throat, hesitating before replying. “I-I… would like that, but… I don’t know…”

They had never showered before, after all. Hell, despite being together since prom, they haven’t even have had sex. More so at Oz’s request more than anything, but it wasn’t as if they weren’t close. They just haven’t made that step yet.

“I would think this would go unspoken, but just for sound of mind I’ll assure you there’ll be nothing sexual about it. I get it if it’s just outside your comfort zone, but…”

“I-I’m fine with it. I’d like if you’d join me.” Oz cut in rather quickly, not even giving himself a moment to overthink it. The decision was made without any certainty behind it, but perhaps for the better; in no good confidence would he otherwise say yes to the offer.

Tensely, Liam swallowed down a bit of his nerves, even though the outcome aligned with his own wishes as well. Although he knows in no right mind would he ever express any arousal or attraction to Oz in this current state, Liam knew any light touching or concentrated affection could be mistaken as sexual interest as soon as both their clothes were off. It was a bit volatile, with the chance of misunderstandings and potential consequences if at any point Oz gets frightened in his already vulnerable state, but perhaps Liam has always had a bad habit of over-estimating his own abilities.

He could make this feel relaxed for Oz, he was sure; Liam just needed to lead, and show how platonic and casual he can make the idea of showering together be without seeming cavalier and insensitive.

“I’m glad to hear. Shall we, then?”

Taking initiative to change the atmosphere (as he was the best at seeming like he doesn’t care about things, regardless of context), Liam set his glasses down on the bathroom counter, and began to pull his own sweater over his head, without a millisecond of hesitation or doubt spliced in. It was casual and neutral, just like the many nights he’s taken off a few layers before crawling into bed with Oz to sleep; nothing erotic, but a subtle display that they were close enough that stripping off some clothing doesn’t immediately turn things sexual. And hopeful, his lover would pick up on that.

Instantly so, Oz noticed the change in energy. Almost in relief, almost like he was exhaling a breath he’s been holding ever since Liam walked back in and saw the scratches and bruises marring his abdomen and waist. The last thing he wanted was for Liam to look at him differently because of what happened, but with how normal and nonchalant Liam made undressing himself seem— he was already working off his skinny jeans, without the slightest deterrence that Oz had yet to continue undressing himself— there was a swarm of comfort Oz couldn’t deny.

He eased up. Took a few breaths, thought to himself that this was just a simple shower between his boyfriend and him, someone he shouldn’t fear being naked around, and never really did until today. But that fear was melting, lightening up, becoming weightless like the atmosphere Liam initiated. Filling his lungs with another draw of the humid shower steam beginning to fill the bathroom, Oz took his eyes off Liam and brought them down to his own partially undressed body, before squeezing them shut and pushing down on the hem of his boxers.

Another shuddering exhale, almost surprised how normal and okay it felt. Not scary, not fearful, not too much for him. Oz opened his eyes, looking up just fast enough so that the image of scratches and bruises over his lower body didn’t stain into the back of his mind.

When he met Liam’s calm, collected golden eyes, Oz felt secure. Neither of them looked down, neither of them acted like it would have mattered if the other did or did not. Liam offered out a hand that Oz took in a heartbeat, enjoying the natural coldness of his skin in comparison to the humid warm room, and let himself be led into the shower, taking the few steps with a slight limp. Yet, the steps were small enough for him to undertake the pain without so much as a wince, and the second the warm shower water pelted his skin he almost felt a bit of tension fall slack from his body.

Liam slid the glass door shut behind them, and Oz took immediate relief in sitting down on the stone ledge that came out against the shower wall, low and far enough out that it was obviously a seat despite the various showering products skewed about it to illustrate Liam favored using it more as a shelf instead. And while Liam untied his bun and began working the water through his long hair, Oz brought his attention down to the aforementioned showering products, noisily reading labels and examining various bottles. At least five were soap-looking substances with various unknown foreign labels, two others were conditioners of which only one from a brand Oz could pronounce, another two bottles appeared to be shampoos of French origin, and finally one single bottle that clearly was just a bottle of lube. Oz found it a bit funny that it was integrated with his boyfriend’s showering products, but where Liam decides to have some fun with himself isn’t Oz’s concern.

Instead, he picked up one of the shampoo bottles, giving it a once over before looking up at Liam, who was still taking his time messing with his hair.

“Is this women’s shampoo?”

Liam chuckled, taking it from Oz’s hands and pouring a bit into his palm. “Gender is a construct, and so-called ‘ _men’s_ ’ shampoo doesn’t smell as nice.”

Oz smiled back. “Perhaps. Didn't take you as someone partial to floral scents.” Leaning back onto his hands, Oz cocked his head to the side as he looked up at Liam, watching him as he began to knead the shampoo into his hair.

“Floral? As if I would pick something so mainstream. This shampoo is scented to evoke the aroma of entering a seventeenth-century bakery right after dawn, when all the pastries are still warm and soft.” Liam was still wearing a playful smirk, inciting Oz to snatch the bottle back from him, eyes squinting at the French label and struggling to remember the class he took in the language back in freshman year. He was pretty sure ‘ _pâtisseries_ ’ meant pastries, so he set the bottle aside with a little laugh.

“Well, smells like vanilla and flowers to me,” Oz teased, provoking Liam to take the hand he had smothered with the shampoo and ruffle Oz’s dark short hair.

“Sounds like someone’s never been in a seventeenth-century bakery before.” Rather than return to working through his own hair, Liam continued shampooing Oz’s, kneading his hand in gentle lathers. Instead of protest, Oz softly sighed in relaxation, closing his eyes with a flutter, as Liam continued speaking in a soft voice. “I think you would’ve enjoyed one. I know I did, and I can’t even eat anything in a bakery. But the atmosphere and aesthetic alone… simply marvelous.”

Liam rambled on, slowly morphing the topic less from the pleasantness of bakeries and more into which pastries are considered mainstream and which aren’t. The whole time while washing Oz’s hair, rinsing the shampoo out and beginning to work in conditioner, surprisingly attentive despite the focus he had in explaining how croissants were a cliché of the French people and justifying which obscure pastry better deserved to be the poster child of the country.

Even though he was only half-listening, Oz enjoyed hearing Liam’s voice as he spoke. It wasn’t until he finished— both with his rambling about pastries and with his meticulous job washing Oz’s hair— did he look down at him with a content smile, like an artist would to a finished piece, and gave one final slow brush of his fingers through Oz’s now-silky hair.

“Beautiful. Absolutely _ethereal_.” Liam leaned down and planted a sweet kiss on Oz’s forehead. For a split second Oz was reconsidering his own pronunciation of ‘ethereal’, which was apparently wrong as he normally ever sees the word written, but quickly his concerns over it melted away and everything else muted at the brush of Liam’s lips on his temple.

The vampire straightened back up, still wearing a soft content smile. But without a second thought or moment to reconsider, Oz pushed off the ledge to stand up as well, shaky but determined. The kiss was sweet, and calming, and comforting— and Oz didn’t want just one.

He crashed his lips against Liam’s, taking him quite off-guard. The intensity really did seem to come out of left field, as Oz reached a hand to hold behind Liam’s neck, who while wasn’t rejecting the kiss in the slightest, was very much frozen in surprise.

A few seconds passed, and he didn’t break away. The kiss was more than just a peck; Oz softly bit at Liam’s bottom lip, pushing in close without so much as a back-burner thought that the confines of the shower might be making the kiss more intimate then he intended.

Liam noticed, though. But for a split second, a single moment where things felt fine, he brought his hands up to hold Oz’s waist, only to hesitate and realize he shouldn’t. And as soon as Oz slipped his tongue into his mouth, leaning close enough that their chests pressed together, Liam’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders to force Oz back and abruptly break the kiss.

“ _No_ , Oz— what are you _doing_?” huffing, either because the kiss left him out of breath or his own worries over the situation were getting to him, Liam unsteadily took a step back, pressing his back against the cold stone of the shower wall.

“I-I was kissing my boyfriend. I thought... nothing changed between us.” Voice low enough that it was almost drowned out by the downpour of the shower itself, Oz sat back down in dismay, leaning over with his head in his hands. “For a second, things just felt _normal_. Are they not normal?”

A moment passed, and Liam didn’t respond. Despite the constant uneven patter of shower water, the silence of his voice left the air painfully empty. Almost fearful of what the answer might be, Oz leaned down more, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in an unsteady breath between his teeth. The water was warm, but a crawl of goosebumps ran a haunting chill over his skin.

He regretted asking.

Nevertheless, Liam responded, slow and hesitant. A few moments too late. A few moments too long.

“Between us, _nothing_ is different. But with what happened to you, a-and how close you were getting just now…” swallowing, his hands clenched into fists, trying to get a grip on his words. Trying to make them sound right. “I-I don’t feel comfortable, Oz. It’s not your fault, but just being that close… it really doesn’t make _me_ comfortable. Even if you feel fine about it. Even if it doesn’t bother you.”

Liam could’ve sworn he saw Oz shiver. His hands gripped in from where his head was in them, tense and stiff, and even though Liam couldn’t see his face he heard a tremble in his voice when he responded.

“Y-you said there’s nothing sexual about this. So what is it, then? Why isn’t this _normal_?” The words bore a slight choke from Oz’s throat, not enough that sounded like he was crying but enough to betray he was getting close to starting. He just didn’t understand, he thought things were feeling just like they used to. Like Liam wasn’t going to look at him differently because of what happened.

Oz’s jaw tightened up. Or, at least, Liam would _pretend_ to not look at him differently.

Would that have been so hard?

“I know what I said. B-but I don’t know what’s safe with you, I don’t know what will cause a reaction.” His hand extended out, onto Oz’s shoulder, rubbing gently. But to Oz, the touch almost felt even more distancing. Obligatory. “This is something fresh, and we both don’t know what your boundaries might be. It’s not that I don’t like kissing you— Oz, I…”

He hesitated. The words got stuck in his throat, and fell silent on his tongue. Liam took a deep breath, and slowly removed his hand from Oz’s shoulder before dragging the words out from his mouth. Knowing it’s best to tell Oz the truth.

“I-I almost put my hands on your waist. When you kissed me, things felt… normal, for me too. I wanted to touch you back. I wanted to hold around your waist but then I remembered the fucking _bruises_.” With a shaky breath, Liam pushed his hand up his temple, brushing his hair back out of his face. “And god, Oz, if I did what if that would’ve made you snap? What if that little touch would’ve hurt you?”

Even with the warm shower water, even with the enveloping steam filling up their confined little space together, Oz was shivering. Shaking, trembling, more than just a little chill or a creep of goosebumps. When his head finally left his hands, rising slowly up to meet Liam’s eyes, there were already the start of a few tears beading his lashes.

When those dull white eyes blinked, one finally rolled down his cheek.

“Hurt me? It almost hurts enough that you _couldn’t_. You can touch me, I’m not a fucking porcelain doll.” Abruptly standing up, though with an unstable little stumble, Oz straightened up before Liam.

“Touch me. Go ahead, touch my waist.”

“O-Oz I don’t think this’ll help anything—”

“I said _touch me_. What, do you need more formal permission? I _consent_ for you to touch my waist. I _want_ you to.” Although there was still an obvious line of tears down his face that even the constant wash of the shower couldn’t quite hide, Oz reached to grab one of Liam’s wrists to guide him, only to have him immediately jerk the hand away from Oz’s grasp.

“No, I’m not doing it. What the hell are you trying to prove? Why are you acting like _this_!?” Liam wanted to push his hand up against Oz’s chest to make sure he didn’t get any closer, but he was adamant about not touching Oz at all. This wasn’t what he needed, even if Oz might think the contrary.

“I’m trying to prove that we haven’t changed. That you can touch my waist like you used to. If nothing is truly different between us, then you can fucking touch your boyfriend and it'll be fine.”

“Touching you won’t prove that. You’re covered in _bruises_ , Oz! If I didn’t push you back, and we kept making out and I suddenly gripped into your hip, you think that would’ve felt good!? Why can’t you see I just don’t want to _hurt you_!”

Abruptly, before Liam could realize, Oz reached forward and grasped his wrist, yanking his hand towards him. Without either one of them having a chance to process it, suddenly Liam’s hand was against Oz’s hipbone. Oz held it in place by his wrist, despite his grip immediately growing weak and trembling on contact, and his demeanor dropped in sync with his heart.

It _didn’t_ feel good.

“Oz…” Liam’s own voice was a shutter, looking at where his palm covered bruised flesh and feeling a bit of color drop from his face. Just merely looking at his hand on Oz’s abused skin made his stomach ball up; it was a cruel juxtaposition, of a hand that wanted to never hurt Oz with the marks of a hand that already did.

“T-tell me things haven’t changed, Liam. Tell me y-you don’t look at me differently.” Although Oz’s grip was loose and barely even there, growing weak just as he was, Liam kept his hand still against his skin. It was already there, so he wanted the touch to be remembered as soft and benevolent, with not even the soreness of tender bruises aching from the contact.

“I never did. Whether or not I feel uncomfortable touching you _never_ changed things.” Smoothly, like the even roll of clouds over a mountain peak, Liam trailed his hand up Oz’s torso. The touch was gentle, but the contact left every inch of skin in his wake alight and aware. It glided up, over Oz’s chest, along his neck, and finally settling on his cheek.

“You’re still my smart, creative, _beautiful_ boyfriend.” His thumb traced a quick circle, and Liam leaned in for a sweet, chaste kiss. “Nothing can change that, Oz. Especially something that was never your fault.”

There were no words that could come together to respond. With a weak smile, Oz nodded, and wrapped his arms around Liam in a much-needed hug.

And despite everything, he felt Liam’s own arms wrap around him back. Holding him not too tight, but very much secure.

The touching didn’t feel as bad anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 5am and I'm just gonna leave this here. I think this is the first chapter so far that ended on a positive(?) note, in a very generous use of the word positive. I know most of you are probably here for the pain but I hoped you enjoyed nonetheless.


	5. Epitome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories slowly come back from that night, but it's hard to think about.

Predictability does the watchful eye wrong; watch long enough, and even the perfect image blots with exceptions.

Careful planning, calculated measures, and meaningless hours of sophisticated fortune telling can never truly comprehend the unpredictability of the mind’s psyche. One may come up with labels or names to define a broad pattern of behaviors, but in the end, the mind is a spectrum of unpredictability.

Names, oh-so many empty names to find a pattern. Symptoms to be expected, behaviors to be assumed. What would someone say if they were to see Oz, what meaningless names would they assign him? Depression? Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? Rape Trauma Syndrome?

Names and labels doesn’t do the experience justice.

He wasn’t a faceless sufferer, doomed to be an epitome of his afflictions. When the loudest feeling inside is hurt, the one hurting doesn’t called it depression, or PTSD, or any other meaningless name. It’s an experience, not a title.

And however they act because of it is the thinnest line of sanity to be drawn from unpredictability. The faintest correlation to the strongest causation.

But in the end, there’s _no way_ to predict what chaos reigns.

Sluggishly, as if each bitter word inside his head was weighing down his physical movements, Oz tugged the yellow sweatshirt his boyfriend gave him over his head, not caring his hair was still wet from the shower. It fit well, no surprise; both Liam and him were slender and rather small for males.

After fitted with a borrowed shirt and sweatpants, Oz shuffled over to the grand lilac bed in the adjacent bedroom, lazily plopping down face-first into the sheets with a groan. The fog that has been cottoning up his head every since he woke up has barely wavered; whatever drug was in his system was lingering around quite a while. Sleep has long been tempting, only held back by the stress of his waking conditions itself.

But he was in a safe place now.

Faintly, he felt the weight distribution on the bed shift. Liam was getting on, but not to join him, to help pull back the poofy comforter and get Oz situated. After all, he looked like he dressed himself to go out rather than to stay in and sleep.

Aiding in his lover’s effort to get him comfortable, Oz pushed himself up, and gathered himself beneath the blankets and sheets snuggly, watching Liam needlessly rearrange pillows and untuck sheets regardless that he was quite content as he was. Lucky for Oz, Liam not only had window shutters to keep out the sun, but additionally blackout curtains just to keep the room pitch black during day. He has mentioned to Oz before that it’s the kind they use in places like Alaska where they deal with a midnight sun, so hopefully Oz could easily fall asleep without daylight keeping him up.

By the time his absent-minded fidgeting with the pillows and comforter was done, Liam pushed off the bed, and Oz propped up on his side, watching just as the vampire reached for his shoes.

“It’s daytime. Where are you trying to go?”

Liam gave a glance up at Oz on the bed from where he was, sitting down on the floor and lacing up. “I’ll be fine with an umbrella. I just need to run some errands, I shouldn’t be out long.”

Finishing, he stood up with an absent-minded sigh, obviously having a lot on his mind. But Oz leaned off the bed, reaching a clingy hand around Liam’s wrist just as he turned to exit.

“Wait— I don’t want you to go.” His voice was a whisper, and sounded more desperate than Oz intended. But there was truth in it; he really did not want to be left alone, even if in a safe place.

Sympathetically, Liam barely gave him a soft smile, pushing up the bridge of his glasses nervously before responding. “There’s things I must take care of. I left your phone on the nightstand; you can call me for anything.”

Oz let go, reluctantly sitting back.

“It’s the worst time to leave. Can’t your chores wait?”

It wasn’t like him to be so persistent about this, but Oz really didn’t like the idea of being left alone. Nevertheless, it didn’t seem to wear at Liam’s patience in the slightest.

“I wish they could. But the sooner they’re out of the way, the better. After that, we have the whole weekend to ourselves, and you won’t have to be alone for a second.” As if trying to dismiss Oz’s worries prematurely, Liam already made his way to the bedroom door. “Fall asleep now and I’ll be back before you wake. You won’t even notice.”

Settling back, surprisingly obedient despite not knowing why he was bothering being so complacent, Oz laid back. Maybe whatever in him that fueled his energy to fight and disagree was wearing thin. Growing tired and fatigue with the stress of confrontations and convincing Oz to be more agreeable for the sake of closing his eyes and resting for a bit. Regardless, perhaps it wasn’t worn quite thin enough, because Oz still half-heartedly pestered with one more question just as he began pulling the comforter up around himself.

“At least tell me where you’re going? You’re not going back to Polly’s or anything, are you?”

Liam noticeably stiffened, and kept his eyes from meeting Oz’s. As if he had to hesitate before finding a good excuse before agreeing; it was so obviously a yes, but it was just as obvious that Oz was expecting a justification behind that yes.

“Amongst other places, I will indeed be stopping there.” The forced casualness was audible, and the attempt to downplay his words’ weight was fruitless. “I need to retrieve the rest of your clothes, and have a little chat with Polly. Just to get a better idea of what happened last night.”

Like a second layer of skin, Oz anxiously tugged the comforter up closer to himself, balling the fabric between his fists.

“Please don’t... d-don’t tell her what happened.” Hushed, he dropped his eyes meekly from meeting Liam’s, as if ashamed. “Don’t even suggest it. Let her think I hooked up with some dude if that’s what it takes, but please don’t even hint that last night I was…”

Oz’s voice trailed off, dwindling until there was no more noise coming from his throat. But the emptiness in the air filled in the gap in his tapered sentence, and somehow the silence was louder than he’d expected. It was just a word, but it hurt to even imagine putting it on his tongue. Admitting it had even happened.

Liam tensely swallowed, unsure how comfortable he was with his boyfriend’s wishes. “She thinks you cheated on me. Perhaps that concept isn’t too scandalous with her crowd, but in my hundreds of years of existence I’ve never condoned the act, not once. It’s a mar on ones character, that they are puppeteered by carnal desire and gilded good feelings.” He finally took a step away from the door, slowly. “If we kept that facade, what would others think when we don’t break up? I know I’m misunderstood on many things, but surely everyone knows I’m not one to tolerant infidelity.”

Oz didn’t think that far. He was just throwing a band-aid on a bullet wound; leave it to Liam to point out the fallacies in a heartbeat. No one would believe Liam to stay with him if they really did push the cheating narrative, and even then, last thing Liam wanted was for Oz to be slandered as a cheater just because he thought being known as a rape victim would be worse.

“Then… then say I _didn’t_ hook up. It was all a misunderstanding, I got wasted and passed out in one of the rooms, and there was no other guy involved.” Oz’s fists tightened, and he could feel the uncomfortable pressure on the cuts and scabs in his palms. “I don’t care what story you use in the end. Just don’t tell her. _Promise me_ you won’t tell her what happened.”

That wasn’t a promise Liam wanted to make. It wasn’t even a promise he thought he could keep. Hiding what happened last night implied there was shame with it, and that very notion sat in his stomach wrong.

“I won’t outright tell her,” Liam began hesitantly, the sentence pausing with a somber lift of his eyes onto Oz’s. “But if she asks, I won’t lie. I’m not comfortable lying about such an encounter.”

“It’s not _your_ encounter, Liam. It’s _mine_. And I say I don’t want our friends knowing.” The bitterness in Oz’s tone had such a pitiful weak edge to it, fuel by more grief than anger. But even that slight energy was already a challenge to conjure at this point, and Oz turned onto his side wearily, sinking deeper into the comforter as he gave Liam his back.

He barely heard his boyfriend’s sympathetic voice, between both the comforter he was pulling over his head and the low tone Liam had dropped to. “You don’t need to hide what happened to you. It isn’t something to be ashamed of, Oz.”

The door creaked open. The lights flickered off.

“... So please stop thinking it is.”

Oz shivered, curled into the sheets more at Liam’s final words, before hearing his light footsteps exit. The bedroom door shut behind him, and the darkness of the pitch black room enveloped him in that haunting stygian blue hue again.

Shame, why was he ashamed? It was hard to dissect himself, especially in his groggy head, but Oz couldn’t place where the shame was coming from. Did he regret taking a drink from someone? Did he regret going to the party completely?

The only certainty he knew was he regretted waking up in _that room_.

At the thought, said room he woke up in hours ago came surfacing to his mind, coaxing him to dwell on it. Like an irresistible itch begging to be scratched, like his mind was willing him to remember it.

Blue eyes, stygian blue eyes. Two beers in hand. No, no the beers were before the room, weren’t they? He doesn’t remember the room from before waking.

Does he?

Oz squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image of that dark room out of his head. He buried his face into the softness of Liam’s comforter, breathing in the subtle scent of his absent lover, trying to distract himself through the faint smell of warm vanilla with hints of floral lavender.

Suddenly remembering their shower, he cracked a weak smile. Not vanilla and flowers; a seventeenth-century bakery. It was that obscure French shampoo Liam used.

The image of the bedroom he woke up in began to fade, still vivid but not as loud in Oz’s head. Instead his senses soak in the intangible hints of Liam around him, from the sheet’s scent, to the familiar feel of the bed, to the borrowed clothes he was wearing.

A safe, comforting place.

So easy to fall asleep and forget everything for a few hours.

 

—————————

 

The door was opened sloppily, sounding almost like someone pushed down on the handle and shouldered roughly against it.

Reacting with an unusual amount of startle, Oz jumped, stirred from vague dreams that were probably suppressed by whatever drug was filtering out of his system. It was the kind of sleep that was deep and dark, and very much delirious to wake from; when he saw Liam setting down several bags onto the dresser and flickering on the lights, Oz sat up with a curious look, crossed between his confusion and newfound wakefulness.

“Are those... groceries?” He muttered with a groggy rub of his eyes, recognizing the logo of a local grocery store on the side. The confusion came more from the obvious fact Liam doesn’t buy groceries, as he only really keeps his fridge stocked with blood and the occasional wine. He may tolerant receiving food at school for his daily instagram food pic, but other than that there’s no point for him.

“Since I assume you’ll be staying here for a bit, yes. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve purchased food for actual subsistence purposes, so it took me longer than I expected.” Amongst the groceries, Oz noticed Liam set down his folded jeans upon the dresser as well, before breaking his eyes off and away. Instead he reached for his phone, still on the nightstand where Liam had left it, and pressed the home button to wake it up.

The time flashed. Nine thirty-two in the morning.

Oz ignored the fact he has several new texts from Polly, internally pretending there wasn’t a chance she knew what happened to him. Hoping Liam used his best judgement and ended up keeping his mouth shut about it.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” was all Oz said at first, setting the phone aside with a sigh. “The groceries and all. I mean, I don’t think I’ll have to crash more than a few days here.”

Taking out some of the non-perishable boxes of crackers and snacks, Liam shrugged. “Perhaps, but we’ll see how you feel by Monday. Either way won’t be a bother to me.”

He tossed a box towards him, and Oz caught it — admittedly sloppy, nearly dropping it— before turning it around and noticing it was crackers. As if just remembering the lack of food he’s had in the last twelve or so hours, Oz finally distinguished part of the discomfort in his abdomen to hunger. It was unnoticeable until now, considering how adamantly he’s been trying to ignore the soreness and pain from his abdominal area entirely, and must’ve overlook his own hunger in the process.

“Til Monday then, I guess.” Oz agreed, albeit distracted, as he tore open the box. They’ve had plenty of sleepovers before, but he’s never stayed a whole weekend over at Liam’s. But it was as if his boyfriend took it as a given; Oz knew he wouldn’t cope well for the next few days on his own, and Liam knew in his disorientation Oz would be in a haze if not for him here. Even now, as he watched Oz gingerly munch on a few crackers, Liam wondered to himself if he would’ve remembered to eat at all today if not he had reminded him. After such a night, he surely imagined there must be a jagged disconnect from Oz’s body to his mental state, each warning the other to keep its distance dare it hurts itself on the rough edges of the other. It left his mind in a cloudy haze, and his body in a fit of shivers and startles.

“... While you eat, I should probably put the perishables away in my fridge, there’s some soy milk and vegetables in some of the bags.” After separating out some of the snacks for Oz, Liam immediately recollected a few of the bags, already making his way out of the bedroom.

At the mention that he had bought soy milk, Oz turned to the cover of the cracker box he had in hand, and immediately noticed the stamps proclaiming it was certified organic, vegan, and cruelty-free. It was amusing how much these things must matter to his boyfriend, despite him being a creature solely reliant on blood to survive.

Setting the box aside and swallowing down the last bits of rather bland vegan crackers, he took advantage of the few minutes he had with Liam out of the room to check his texts from Polly.

The latest text was marked at seven fifteen, quite a few hours before.

 

_You been feeling alright? I heard what happened._

_Liam stopped by this morning._

 

Oz felt a cold lump sink into his stomach.

Liam told. After how much of a deal Oz made this out to be, he still told. Mindlessly, like an innate line of defense, his fingertips were already treading on his phone’s keyboard to save face.

 

_Nothing happened last night. Everything’s fine._

 

The words made him nauseous to read on screen, but he did so anyways, again and again, considering how smart it would be to take this path. But Oz was panicking, he was stressing every second that Polly was left thinking about what she must’ve heard about him, what Liam should have kept secret but obviously didn’t.

He pressed send.

The nausea didn’t go away when the message popped into their digital conversation, cementing itself into reality. The cold pit in his stomach twisted up, vile and upset.

“...Are you doing okay? You’re as pale as snow,” Liam commented upon entering the room, his hyperbolic statement ringing with chimes of truth to the faint greyish hue Oz’s skin has taken.

“Polly didn’t need to know. _Nobody_ needed to know about this,” was all Oz said at first, setting down the phone and taking a staggering breath as if he’d forgotten to breathe the last few moments. “I can’t believe you told her.”

Mirroring Oz, the color began to drop from Liam’s face as well, and he turned a sickly faint lavender that emphasized the dead in him more.

“Polly knows? I told her that you almost got alcohol poisoning, so I had to get you this morning.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning sympathetically at Oz’s grief. “It made a good excuse for why you’re going to be showing up to school Monday bruised up; I said you tripped and hit your face pretty badly, and went into one of Polly’s bedrooms to rest a bit. Not to mention saying you fell hard enough to get a nosebleed also justifies the blood on the sheets.”

The tightness at the bottom of Oz’s stomach suddenly unfurled, not in a way that relieved the pressure of already accumulated stress, but in a way that stifled said stress from escalating.

“I-I just had thought—” obviously tensing up, with words laced with thinly veiled anxiety, Oz swallowed to stifle his assumptions. He shouldn’t be assuming Liam would be telling everyone about this, that wasn’t something he would do. Even though he has already said he won’t deny it if Polly were to deduce it herself. And knowing Polly, she’s not exactly the kind built with a head made for thinking.

“Look, even if I don’t personally agree with keeping it a secret, I can understand why you might,” as if to help distant Oz from any source of stress, Liam reached out to his phone, and set it aside on the nightstand further from him. “Distrust is a perfectly normal reaction. What you’re feeling is just a result of stress; it’ll pass.”

The analytical tone Liam’s voice took on from time to time is one Oz knew closely, but this tone was different. Almost clinical, or matter-of-factly.

“Reaction?” Softly, more so cautious with Liam’s surprisingly tolerate nature to Oz’s constant fits of distrust towards him, he nervously shifted his weight as he slumped in a bit.

“From what I’ve read, yes, a typical reaction,” Liam asserted with perhaps an all-too-obvious knowingly tone. As if from the time Oz fell asleep to the time he woke up, Liam had brought confidence back to his demeanor and control into his speech.

It didn’t take long for Oz to put two and two together.

“From what you’ve _read_? Just because you googled it doesn’t mean you get to analyze me.” Oz snapped back, finding a new source to vent the stress he had accumulated after the Polly scare. Of course that’s why Liam was acting matter-of-factly about this; he gets educated on something and suddenly he feels things are in control again. As if reading the first article on google about date rapes suddenly brought a level of understanding to the situation.

But Oz wasn’t an epitome of date rape victims, and it made him nauseous to even imagine himself under that umbrella term, regardless of whether it’s true or not. He didn’t want to be lumped in. He didn’t want to be generalized.

And that call out brought an obvious blush of embarrassment to Liam’s face, not realizing that patronizing effect of stripping this down to the facts and science.

“I-I’m not trying to analyze,” he justified, hand sympathetically resting atop Oz’s on the bed, “I just want to understand, and it’s hard to understand when you’re not in a position to give me the full story.”

“The hell are you talking about!? How do you think _I_ feel— _I_ don’t even know the full story!” Bitterly, Oz yanked his hand back, and the foggy memories of the night before twinkled dimly in his brain in acknowledgement.

Talking to friends. Drink table. Two beers in hand, stygian blue eyes. Stygian blue room. _Pressing into the mattress, hand on the back of his neck. Sharp claws digging into his hips. Hot blood running down his thighs._

His eyes suddenly squeeze shut at the hazy memories, foreign and out of place. Groaning, Oz pushed a palm up to his temple, suddenly flooded with grief— the _claws_ , how could he forget those claws?

He remembered, in the faintest way, the feeling of claws dig into his flesh. Gripping, bruising, something that registered to him even through the drug-induced haze.

Liam noticed the color drop from Oz’s face, and immediately left the words he had gathered in retaliation. The atmosphere was completely thrown awry when Oz began breathing faster, caught up in hyperventilation, wrecked with a new wave of chills and shivers as disturbing new memories started to play in his mind like damaged film on a old projector.

“I-I can’t remember— I, I can’t r-remember that _room_ —” he whimpered, in contrast to the weak memories bubbling up to the surface of his consciousness, awoke from whatever stasis shock had put them in.

“You don’t have to think about it, you're in a safe place, I-I’m here,” Liam stammered, losing all sense of control in a heartbeat, whilst concurrently realizing the flaw in constantly trying to see the bigger picture while ignoring the harsher details. His arms wrapped around Oz, apologetically, holding him firm as if that would in any way still his awful trembling.

“I-It _wasn’t_ Damien,” incoherently reasserting his claim from earlier, Oz reached around Liam’s back, gripping the slack of his shirt and balling it up in his fists. “H-his eyes were _blue_ , he had claws—”

“...Blue?” Breathless, like he was mirroring Oz without realizing, he tightened his secure hold. “You said you only talked with Polly, Damien, and Vera… Polly’s the only one with blue eyes.”

“N-no,” Oz murmured, putting the next thought together in his head but not consciously acknowledging what it implied, “I-I went over to the drink table, and… And talked with Gwilliam there.”

A hard swallow was audible from Liam. Gently, he pulled back, the obvious coming together as he leveled his eyes with Oz’s unfocus, downcast ones.

“Gwilliam.” Liam spoke on empty words, unreadable of any emotion behind it. The realization and clarity holding back the choke in his throat to fully visualize the assailant as their friend from school. His next words barely even holding together.

“Gwilliam, the _Incubus_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if I should even continue this, I've had a cleaner ending planned long ago but tbh this could theoretically end right now


End file.
